Three cups instead of two?
by Zora Arian
Summary: John, and Mary, is worried about Sherlock when the latter hasn't replied to his texts and voicemail for three days, so he goes to see him at their former shared home. He finds his friend to be happier than before, and soon finds out that, hmm, Sherlock's been very busy indeed... One-shot; inspired by a scene from His Last Vow.


Remember that Janine-coming-out-of-Sherlock's-bedroom-in-his-shirt scene from His Last Vow? Yeah, so, I dunno – I wanted a Molly version of it, and since we won't be having it in the show (either now or never), might as well make a fic out of it. Leaves a lot to the imagination that way, hmm? ;) Also, there be some mild references to Sherlock's past with drugs, so just to be safe, it's rated T. And of course, some other things that is worth rated T for ;)

On another note, I'm happy I could write again; I'm doing well, and I hope to stay this way. Seriously, thank you all for reading what little things I've written and being so awesome! I hope you all enjoy reading this! :DDD

* * *

John Watson greeted Mrs Hudson as he entered 221B one warm morning. Giving his former landlady a hug and catching up with her a little through a short chat, he finally asked if his former flatmate was at home.

"Oh, Sherlock's at home," Mrs Hudson said with a smile. Then she frowned. "Unless, of course, he left at night without telling me. He didn't come through the door in the morning, so it's either he's at home or he's outside. Is it urgent, you wanting to see him?"

"No, not urgent at all," the blond assured her, shaking his head. "Just wanted to see if he's not breaking things or shooting walls out of boredom because I haven't heard from him for three days now since our last meeting, even after I texted him about his wellbeing; Sherlock would text me if Lestrade has a case, but so far there's been none. I even went to ask the DI if he's contacted Sherlock, but in his words, 'there's been not a case worthy of his intellect'."

"Didn't hear any of the walls being shot at for the past week, only some loud noises once in a while, so he should be occupied."

John immediately assumed a concerned face after hearing her words. "Is he…has he-"

"No, don't worry." It was Mrs Hudson's turn to assure her former tenant. "I've visited him this week, don't worry, and he's been continually telling me he's clean; I managed to take a covert glance around the flat yesterday, and he's ok. I feel like he's happier, though."

"That had better not be the effects of substance use," John said in a low growl.

Mrs Hudson patted him on the arm and gave him a reassuring small smile. "Okay, why don't you go up and see for yourself? I might be mistaken – old age is catching up on me, after all – so I apologise in advance if I misread the signs. You're more adept at stopping him from succumbing to his old habits, anyway."

Nodding his head and promising to inform her of Sherlock's condition, John gave his ex-landlady another hug before ascending the seventeen steps to his old apartment. Along the way, he tried to calm himself down. Sherlock had better not be doing nor taking anything, he thought to himself; after being married to Mary Morstan, he did not see much of Sherlock Holmes. Yes, they did go on cases, just like old times, but with Mary expecting, he could hardly leave her side for much longer. He still checked on the man about twice every week to ensure he was fine, but for the past three days, after ten texts and a voicemail, there was no reply from the consulting detective.

Maybe he had to work on a secret case for Mycroft, John thought, then immediately banished that possibility from his mind – the last time he did that, he had the decency to tell the army doctor. And that was just last month.

Reaching the top, John Watson took in a deep breath. His knuckles barely touched the surface of the familiar wooden door before it was pulled open from the other side.

"So good to see you, Dr John Watson."

John widened his eyes before raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Mrs Hudson was right in saying you're happier."

Sherlock Holmes, clad in a loose white shirt, blue pyjamas pants and his signature blue dressing gown, rolled his eyes as he gestured for his best friend to enter his abode, formerly both theirs. "And judging from your stiff military posture and your raised eyebrow upon seeing me, you were expecting the worst." He turned with his hands behind him to his friend, who had settled on the sofa. "I can assure you that you were wrong in your assumption that I have been abusing substances again; that was in the past, and I am being honest when I say that it shall remain that way forever."

John finally let out a relieved smile. "Good," he said in reply, then narrowed his eyes. "Then why haven't you given me a reply to my texts or voicemail?"

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards. "Been busy," was his cryptic reply.

"Busy? With what? What's so busy to you that you couldn't be bothered to reply to your best friend?"

"Busy with Life."

John groaned as Sherlock sniggered and sat on his black leather armchair, crossing a leg over the other. "Getting philosophical now, are we?" the former teased, to which he received an eye roll in response.

Looking over his former flatmate and, finally coming to the assuring conclusion that he had, in fact, not been taking any substances these past few days, John let out a contented sigh. "You know, Mary was worried too," he said to Sherlock.

"Speaking of Mary, how is she?" Sherlock asked, rising to his feet and picking up Billy the skull from the mantle place.

"Doing great for a pregnant woman. I mean, she does have weird cravings, but other than that, pregnancy has been going smoothly for her."

"Do you think I could bring my nephew along for our cases, hmm?"

"Sherlock, no. At least, not until he's twelve."

"Sorry? Was talking to Billy here."

John glared daggers at the back of a snickering Sherlock before letting out a chuckle of his own; God, he definitely missed these times with Sherlock: no cases, no mysteries, no chasing after criminals and almost getting into deep shit with the authorities – just the both of them lounging, relaxing and being happy.

Sherlock set Billy down gently back in its position before turning around with a soft smile to John. "As you can see, you came in earlier than I had anticipated, thus I am not dressed for the occasion. I'll get a shower, and after that we all could get some chips for an early lunch; invite Mary if she's able."

John nodded his head and got up. "I'll make us some tea," he suggested, moving to the kitchen as Sherlock made his way to the bathroom.

"Great idea – make three cups, if you may."

"Oka-" Three cups? "Hold on – three?"

His answer was the click of the bathroom door, indicating it was closed, and the shower turned on. Wanting to make sure that he had heard right (because did Billy the skull really need a cup of tea too? With Sherlock, who knew), John entered the hallway and was about to approach the bathroom door and knock against the wood when the door to the tall dark haired man's bedroom creaked open and someone yawned unselfconsciously while ruffling her messy brown, bed hair as she took a step forward.

The male doctor stood frozen to the ground as he made eye contact with another doctor, one who he was very familiar with. "Molly?" he spluttered in disbelief.

Realising she was not alone in the apartment after all, the petite pathologist squeaked in surprise at the appearance of John Watson. "John?! Oh, hi…"

No wonder Sherlock requested for three cups.

"Molly!" John said, this time in a happier voice. Until he finally registered the attire she was in. "Molly, uh…"

Looking down, Molly blushed furiously as she tugged the hem of the large purple shirt she was wearing downwards, in an attempt to cover up more of her pale, exposed thighs. "Aha, uh, I better wear, um, wear a gown for a moment…"

She scampered into the darkness of the room (Sherlock's room!) while he still stood in place, a lopsided grin framing his face. Oh, Sherlock's been busy, all right.

Now knowing the reason why he had to make three instead of two cups of tea, John went into the kitchen and got everything he needed, whistling a happy tune as he did so. As he flipped the switch to the electric kettle off when the water had finished boiling, he heard light hesitant footsteps behind him and he turned around, seeing a bashful Molly Hooper tugging the oversized dressing gown tighter around her small frame.

"Don't worry – I'll be making you a cup of tea as well," John said as greeting, smirking at her; if it was possible, she turned redder in the face.

"So. You've been keeping Sherlock occupied for the last few days, hmm?" he went on as he prepared tea when there was not a word spoken from the embarrassed pathologist.

"Me?" she said, shaking her head; she mumbled, "More like **him** keeping **me** occupied."

Having heard her mumble, John raised both his eyebrows at her and, catching her eyes, waggled them. She slapped both her hands to her face in slight mortification as he laughed.

"But seriously, he hadn't replied to any of my texts," John said, handing her a cup which she accepted gratefully with a quiet 'thanks', and leaned against the counter as he sipped his own tea.

"I know – I heard his text tone for your number and I always tell him to answer, but he kept getting distracted, and I guess he purposefully decided to forget replying to you. Sorry."

"Mary was worried, you know."

"Sorry…"

John smiled at the apologetic expression Molly was wearing on behalf of the great git currently in the bathroom. She really was too good for him, and he told her so.

She smiled and took a tiny sip of her tea. "That's okay – sometimes Sherlock needs someone too good for him. You're too good for him; Mrs Hudson and Greg as well. We're his friends, after all."

He nodded and, looking into his cup of hot brown liquid, smirked mischievously. "I assume you have been more than just 'friends' with Sherlock, yes?"

Molly almost choked in her tea at the accurate observation, and John went over to her, laughing quietly. His laughter increased in volume at the glare the petite woman was giving him as he took her tea from her hands. Before she could chide the blond in response, a low and loud grumble came from the direction of the hallway.

"Molly! I'm in here!"

Sherlock Holmes, in the bathroom, calling out for Molly and telling her he was in there. Oh, Sherlock's been busy all right. Very busy.

Molly, however, took no notice, and instead tugged at the large gown she was wearing. "So, how's Mary?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Her attempt was futile because John had no intentions of changing the subject; he, instead, merely stared at her. It did not help that Sherlock once again called for her. "Molly!"

"Okay fine, I heard you the first time!" she finally responded, not without hiding her face behind her hands once more.

John guffawed out loud as Sherlock once again grumbled loudly, "So why aren't you here with me?"

"Oh God, John – how could you stand being with him under one roof for more than a year?" she hissed quietly at him; he merely laughed as she continued, "These past three days – was it three, oh my God – he kept following me around, trailing after me like a lost puppy, and we're just here in his apartment! I got two days off and was supposed to go to work today, but he called Mike saying I couldn't make it for 'personal reasons' and **JOHN** where is Sherlock?!"

"He's in there, in the bathroom, calling for you, I believe," he answered cheekily. His reply from her was a rather hard thump to his shoulder. "Can't blame him if he finally found his libido and can't be easily satisfied," he shrugged, rubbing at the sore part on his shoulder; for such a small woman, she did packed a punch, literally.

"John! Then how- how do you help him with it?! I mean, can you believe that I hardly left the flat, nonetheless bed, for these three days?!"

"Wrong person to ask, Molly," he said, raising both hands in the air in the traditional 'sorry not me' gesture. "Not gay. His libido, you satisfy. Not like you're really complaining, right?"

At John's worried look, and after another agitated call of 'Molly!' from Sherlock, Molly sighed and gave a small smile. "No, not complaining," she said bashfully.

"Good. Because I don't want him to…you know, with his history and all that when he's bored…."

"I understand," Molly said to an uncomfortable looking John Watson. "I'm…really happy he wants to be with me," she whispered.

John patted her on the arm, giving her a very wide and assuring smile. "I – and everyone who knows Sherlock – am very happy you two are together. You complement each other in a good way, and with Sherlock having brought out that strong personality in you that we get to see more often and you keeping him right, you two deserve to be happy together."

As Molly gave him a large grateful smile of her own, John tapped a finger against his lip while pretending to think deeply. "Also, I think every one of us would prefer if he gets addicted to you than any other thing, hmm."

Molly glared at him once more as Sherlock whined out her name; finally giving up, Molly mumbled to John that she would go and entertain that man already, and made her way to the hallway. John followed and stood a few feet back, watching as she stopped in front of the bathroom door and planted her hands on her hips.

"Sherlock, John's here – why didn't you tell me?!"

"So? He knows you're mine now, and he has a pregnant Mary. What's wrong with that?"

"I came out and unintentionally greeted him in one of your shirts, Sherlock! That is indecent attire to be greeting a guest with!"

"Only the shirt, right? You don't have anything else on, no?"

"Sherlock!"

"John's listening, I know. Not like he doesn't have similar conversations with Mary."

John laughed and rolled his eyes at his pompous arrogant friend's words as Molly looked to her left and gave him a withering look.

"We're going out to eat fish and chips with John, Molly," Sherlock shouted from inside the bathroom.

"Right. So I'll just go and change into my clothes."

Before she could take a step away from the door, though, said door opened and a hand grabbed the pathologist's arm and pulled her into the room. John did his best to keep in his laughter at how quick Sherlock was in his movements.

"Sherlock!"

"No, I haven't seen you in my shirt yet – and yes, this is my favourite attire on you."

"Look, you are wet and I'm wearing your gown-"

"So take it off, then. You need a shower as well."

Upon hearing Molly's squeal and Sherlock's deep chuckle, John figured he had better leave them both alone. "Meet you at the fish and chips shop in an hour!" he hollered through the bathroom door; he heard Sherlock grunt while Molly squeak out an 'okay', before she let out a soft moan.

That's it – Sherlock's busy being distracted. Better leave now.

Quickly finishing his tea, he set his cup in the sink before running down the stairs; he went to see Mrs Hudson for a while, telling her that Sherlock was clean and happy, and that she might hear some of those noises she had heard before during the next hour. Giving her a hug, he left 221B and stepped onto the pavement. He sent out a quick text to his wife as he chuckled at the memory of what had happened mere minutes ago.

_Going home now – Sherlock's invited us for a fish-and-chips lunch, so we shall be meeting him in an hour. Speaking of which, don't worry about the man-child – he has someone taking care of him, one who has been keeping him busy these past three days. Very, very busy. He's good and clean. JW_

_And someone being a certain pathologist that we were certain had something going on with Sherlock, which in the end did. JW_


End file.
